


I'll Take My Secrets To My Grave

by scandalsavage



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, Panic Attacks, We hate Sheila Haywood in this house, actually telling each other about some shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22372216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage
Summary: No one knows what really happened in that warehouse in the middle of the desert. That's about to change.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 61
Kudos: 685





	I'll Take My Secrets To My Grave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Delanoble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delanoble/gifts), [MythologyGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythologyGirl/gifts).



> I've been super unmotivated and tired the last couple of weeks. Then a discord discussion saved my soul.

Most people feel a general sense of unease about cemeteries. Out loud they'd say it was silly, superstitious. Visiting a cemetery is often a sad experience, but the place itself is just that... just a place. A quiet retreat from the bustle of the world where you can remember loved one who've moved on. But internally? Very few people felt comfortable in a city of headstones after dark.

Then metas and magic and crises told the world those deep, instinctual feelings were wise and valid.

Oddly enough, in Gotham cemeteries are at the bottom of the populations concerns. There's still that ancient urge to leave before nightfall, but when there are entire burial sites dedicated to specific massacres, well... it shifts the popular perception. 

Jason Todd is probably the most skeptical resident of Gotham. He hasn't been in a cemetery since the night the universe said 'fuck it, this one's not beat up enough' and spat him out of his grave. 

Not that it was that easy. The coffin lid didn't just swing open into empty air and he didn't just walk out. 

It's not a clear memory. Jason hadn't been for his treatment at the Lazarus Pit Day Spa yet. So his mind had suffered all the brain damage he would have if he hadn't been caught in an explosion and stuck under rubble, sucking in poisonous smoke until it finally filled his lungs and killed him. Even his body was still a mangled mess. 

Probably worse after he broke every bone in his hand and tore open the thin skin there trying to get out of the satin-lined wooden box with several tons of soil trying it's damnedest to suffocate him again.

Point is, he doesn't have a solid memory of it. But the flashes are enough to have kept him away ever since.

It doesn't happen often, just enough to keep him on edge whenever it rains or there's digging.

Or cemeteries. 

Sometimes he'll taste dirt.

Sometimes it's hard to catch his breath.

Sometimes the darkness closes in around him.

Sometimes they all happen and he passes out with tears in his eyes and Bruce's name on his lips.

Luckily no one has ever been around for that last one. And the rest is easy enough to hide from the others. 

But it's been a few years now. Jason gets along with everyone now (more or less). Bruce's name doesn't make him flinch. Seeing the man doesn't make his throat go tight. Being around Tim doesn't make him physically sick.

It's four years to the day since fate decided it wasn’t done with Jason Todd. And it's time to put the past firmly behind him. 

"Ready?" Bruce asks, arctic blue eyes soft with affection. 

His mentor's hand is a comfortable weight on Jason's shoulder. 

They stand at the entrance to the cemetery where Bruce once laid Jason's corpse to rest. 

Jason takes a shaky breath, glad to have the steadying presence of his fa— of Bruce at his side.

"Yeah," he says and Bruce wraps his arm around his shoulders to guide him forward. "Let's do it."

* * *

He only sees his own headstone for a split second before the one next to it draws his attention.

He's vaguely aware of Bruce speaking to him but it's muffled and distant. 

The world has narrowed to the name etched into the stone there. The person he'd almost spent eternity next to.

It's not Bruce's fault, a small, timid voice says in the back of his mind. He couldn't have known. Joker was the only one who knew.

It doesn't change the fact that Jason can taste earth. 

Doesn't change the fact that black swarms the edges of his vision, blocking out everything but the marble with those two words. 

Sheila Haywood.

Bruce buried her next to him. 

Something shakes him. Bruce's face, brows raised, lips parted, eyes searching Jason's face... all screaming concern.

"Jason? Are you alright? Maybe this was a bad idea. We should go."

An arm loops around Jason's shoulders again. Bruce's arm.

Jason throws it off him and darts back a step, staring at Bruce with wide eyes. 

He can't catch his breath.

He can feel the pressure building for tears.

"Sheila..." It's the only word he can manage, gasped or choked... Jason isn't very cognizant of his own voice.

But Bruce's expression softens. Concern bleeds into sadness.

"I thought it was appropriate," he says sending Jason's mind reeling. "You worked so hard to find her."

Then, because the universe has a personal grudge against Jason Todd, Bruce reads the situation horribly, irreparably wrong. 

He puts his hands on Jason's shoulders, smiles kindly, and speaks words that shatter four years of hard won progress.

"Her last words were about how amazing you are. She didn't blame you for what happened. She didn't manage to say the words, but I know she forgave you."

Jason blinks at him in horror. Then blinks again. Opens his mouth but doesn't have any words ready so he just gapes.

Then he shoves Bruce away and runs before Bruce can so much as call after him.

It isn't fair. Jason knows that. Bruce doesn't know. Couldn't know. Jason has never said anything. Never known how to bring it up. Always thought it was... always thought they'd think he was looking for sympathy. Or making excuses. There had never really been much consideration for having been tortured and murdered in the first place. 

They hadn't said it but the attitude was... everyone has trauma, Jason. Yours is nothing special. Get over it like everyone else. 

The fact of it didn't matter. The how and why certainly wouldn't. So he had stayed silent. Spent years "getting over it". 

Joker is the only other one who knew.

So he knows. Jason knows it isn't Bruce's fault—not really—that he blames Jason for what happened that day in the desert. 

But he tastes dirt. 

He can't catch his breath.

He's being swallowed by darkness. 

Salt mixes with earth on his tongue as he hits concrete. 

He finds the nearest shadow and disappears into it before Bruce can catch up.

* * *

Tim finds Jason slumped at the bar at Noonan's and is immensely grateful that he thought to look here before Bruce or Dick.

And he's more wasted than Tim's ever seen him before. 

They'd all known what the plan was today. They had all been ready for a bad reaction. Even Jason had been prepared and willing to take the risk. 

But what Bruce described was a manic, crazed look flashing across eyes suddenly a shade of vibrant green that they hadn't seen in years. Jason had obviously reacted much stronger than anyone expected. 

Tim hesitates before approaching and considers calling Dick anyway, or Damian. If Jason has regressed back to Pit influenced days... well, Tim might not be the best person to try to get through to him.

But Jason slips just enough on the stool that his gaze trips over Tim just inside the entrance.

"TIMMY!" Jason's grin splits his face ear to ear. It's bright and unrestrained in a way Tim doesn't think he's ever seen before. But his eyes are glassy and unfocused. 

Jason's beer sloshes out of his glass onto the grimy counter as he motions Tim over. The bartender throws Jason a little frown that might actually be more worried than annoyed, and mops up the spill with a rag as Tim slides onto the stool next to him.

"Hi Jay," he says tentatively, eyes scanning over Jason looking for any sign that he's compromised. Or injured. "You ok buddy?"

Jason blinks slowly as the words word through the haze of alcohol. Then smiles beautifully again before nodding.

Maybe it's the way Jason's smile drops off his face faster than lead the second he's no longer looking directly at Tim. Or perhaps it's the fact that he immediately chugs down the full pint in a breath. There's something about it. Something that sets off the alarms in Tim's mind. He's seen Jason drunk before. Or tipsy rather, Jason drinks surprisingly little. He's usually a happy, affectionate drunk as the booze lowers the walls he's built around himself just enough for the real man to bleed through.

But Jason is not alright. His act is so shallow it's not even skin deep. Something is tearing him up inside.

"You... you want to tell me what happened?" Tim asks gently, keeping his voice low. "B said something spooked you pretty bad—"

"Nope, baby bird," Jason says, popping the 'p'. "I'm in mint condition."

Tim opens his mouth to softly prod but Jason cuts him off.

"Do you think it's my fault?"

Yikes. He doesn't even know what Jason is talking about and Tim doesn't want to touch that with a ten foot pole and a hazmat suit.

"Be honest, Timbo," Jason adds, eyes locked onto the slowly deflating foam left over in his pint glass. 

Having this conversation with a sober Jason would really be a better idea. But none of them are exactly the sharing type. And Bruce was so freaked out by whatever happened that it's already fraying Tim's nerves.

"Do I think what is your fault, Jay?" 

That's when Tim notices the off-color streaks down Jason's cheeks and when Jason speaks again, Tim picks up on the thick sound of recent crying.

"Dying, Tim," Jason says like it should have been obvious. "Me dying. My death."

Oh god this is really not the place for this.

Reaching out, Tim puts a hand on Jason's forearm and clears his throat. To his surprise, the older boy doesn't shove him off or jerk away. 

He just sits there, staring at his mug, eyes far away.

"I... I don't really know much about it," Tim hedges.

Delicacy is required here. The subject feels like a bomb set to go off at the slightest shift in the softest breeze.

It's the truth though. Tim only knows what Bruce told him and that wasn't much. He and Jason had a fight, Jason found out the woman who... well, was there for part of Jason's youth while he raised himself, wasn't his biological mother. So Jason, using the detective skills Bruce taught him, found his mother and went after her. Bruce found him in Africa. Joker showed up. Batman and Robin were forced to split up. Bruce ordered Jason to wait for him, not take on the Joker alone. Jason hadn't listened. He and Sheila had both paid the price. 

But Tim's a good detective too and he knows there's a lot missing from Bruce's report. Namely Jason's perspective. What happened when Bruce wasn't there. 

His opinion, based on the facts he has on hand, is that yes, _technically_ Jason's death is his own fault. He wouldn't have died if he'd listened to Bruce. Sheila might not have either but with the Joker's unpredictability, there's no way to tell. 

The thing is... Tim has his own very vivid memories of disobeying Bruce's orders. He knows Dick did too. Tim is very aware of how many times he's come a hairsbreadth away from his own grave. Both disobeying Bruce _and_ following his orders to the letter. It's not exactly realistic to expect teenagers to never push boundaries or flex their muscles.

So is Jason's death his own fault? Sure. Technically. But, and Tim would never ever say it to his face (has in fact, on more than one occasion said the exact opposite), it's also Bruce's. 

But mostly? Overwhelmingly? It's all on the Joker as far as Tim's concerned. 

"B thinks it is," Jason _sniffles_. "Said-said she didn't _blame me_. That _she_ forgave _me_."

"Your mom?"

"Don't fucking call her that," Jason snaps so sharply Tim can't help but recoil an inch. "She wasn't. Moms wouldn't—"

Tim waits a few beats after Jason trails off to see if he'll finish before giving him a nudge.

"Moms wouldn't what?"

Jason snorts and raises his empty glass in the air, waving it at the bartender.

"You're cut off, kid," the rough looking burly man in a dirty, ratty plaid shirt says.

"The fuck I am, Sean. Who died and made you my dad?" Jason slurs.

"My bar, my rules," Sean answers with a fond smile that surprises Tim. "And I ain't your deadbeat, prick of father either. 'Cause I at least care enough to stop serving your dumb ass when you've had too many."

"Yeah, yeah." Jason waves him off and the movement makes him sway into Tim's space.

After steadying the older boy back on his seat, Tim leaves his hands on either of Jason's elbows until Jason looks up at. 

"Moms wouldn't what, Jay?"

Jason swallows hard and licks his lips. Then grins that bright, insincere thing that breaks Tim's heart. "I don't know, man. What would I know 'bout what moms'd do?" Then, under his breath so soft Tim barely makes it out, "'specially bein' so wrong 'bout what dads should do."

"Ok," Tim says, trying a different track, "what did Sheila do?"

For a moment, Tim thinks he's actually going to spill without any more prompting. Jason's mouth opens and his expression is... _christ_ it's fucking _desperate_. Like he's dying to get this off his chest. 

But just as quickly he shuts down again. Huffs out a forced laugh and waves a dismissive hand in Tim's face and tries to turn away.

"It's ok, Timmy. It's no big deal. Everyone has shit."

Brows furrowed, Tim slides his hands down Jason's forearms to take his hands and squeezes in encouragement.

"No one else has gone through what you did, Jason. No one else has been tortured to within and inch of their lives, blown up, suffocated, and come back—" Tim stutters to a halt as it hits him. 

They don't really _know_ anything about what happened. Literally all Tim knows about it is that Jason's body was in his coffin once and then it wasn't. He knows there's time missing between when Jason resurrected and when Talia took him. But he doesn't know _anything_ about what happened. Does Bruce know more? Or was Talia vague with him. 

"You're right," he says, voice cracking a little. "Everyone has shit. But I'm asking about your shit."

Jason glances up at him quickly before dropping his gaze to their hands.

"No... no one's ever asked before," he whispers.

With great effort, Tim holds back the disbelief he feels. 

Bruce never asked?

He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. It wasn't Tim's responsibility. He and Jason... have their own rocky history and Tim shouldn't be the first person to try to understand.

Giving Jason's hands another squeeze, just to let his predecessor know he's not going anywhere, Tim settles in to wait as Jason very obviously works through things.

"I... I didn't disobey," Jason says after a couple long minutes. He sounds a little less drunk and Tim gives Sean a nod and mouths 'water' at him. "Don't get me wrong," Jason continues, "I was going to. I just didn't get the chance."

Jason takes a deep breath. Then it's like a dam breaks.

"Sheila came out of the warehouse and I tried to convince her to come with me, away from the building. She was obviously scared so I told her I was Robin and she didn't have to be."

This is it. The missing information. Tim can feel it coming. Jason's posture shifts. He practically shrinks, elbows tucked in, hunched forward over their hands which he's clinging to like a lifeline, eyes fixed resolutely down. Tim braces himself.

"She-she told me the Joker was gone, lead me back inside. Right to him. Couldn't have Batman and Robin finding out she was stealing from her charity..."

All of Tim's insides freeze. His heart stops, his eyes go wide before he starts blinking quickly, trying to keep the tears away. Jason's own mother delivered him to the evilest, vilest, creature on the planet? She must have known. She _had_ to have known what the Joker would do to Robin...

Jason is openly crying now, not that he seems to notice. He doesn't even wipe at the tears, just lets them fall to his lap.

"She'd seemed so... so _happy_ to meet me just a few hours earlier. But she held a gun to me... asked Joker what _they_ should do with me. Stood there and smoked a cigarette the whole time." He pauses, sniffles a little, then sighs. It's almost like Tim is witnessing a very real, heavy weight is lifting off him in real time. Tension bleeds out of him the more he speaks.

It feels like it all goes straight out of Jason and into Tim.

"It gets a little fuzzy after that. But Joker betrayed her. She was evidence that he'd killed me. So he tied her up and set a bomb. I was laying there, dead they though and all she said was how unfair it was that he turned on her. Isn't that funny?"

"No," Tim rasps. He's horrified. He would have never guessed just how fucking miserable and terrifying Jason's last hour or two was. They knew the physical damage to his body but... but they've all gotten a bit... hardened when it comes to violence. "No, Jason. I don't think that's funny at all."

"Only I wasn't dead yet. When I moved, the first thing she did was tell me to get the bomb. I couldn't disarm it. Couldn't see very well. What I could see was all red. Fingers didn't work. Broken like most everything else probably. It was easier to cut her free. That was it. I could stay upright any longer. Told her to go. Must've been the brain damage but I... I think I called her mom, even then. She _did_ drag me to the door so... credit where credit's due, I guess. But it was locked. So I jumped between her and the bomb. Hoped maybe it would shield her enough that she'd make it." 

Jason lets go of his hands and reaches for the water. "But at least she didn't blame me, I guess. At least she forgave me for getting her killed too."

Tim tracks his every movement. Watches as Jason, hands shaking so badly the liquid spill over the edge of the glass, knocks back the drink just as quickly as the beer. 

The Drake's aren't winning any parents of the year awards. They were absent and selfish but... but Tim knows they at least cared about him. Certainly more than enough to protect him if and when it came down to it. 

He knew that Willis was an abusive asshole, that Catherine was an addict who, at one time loved Jason... just not enough to get the help she needed to take care of him. Tim knows that at 10 years old, Jason found her overdosed. That Bruce took in a homeless Jason when he was 12. He also remembers Mia telling him about what Jason had said to her during their fight. About having their... having their pasts in common. 

But this? Delivering a child, _any_ child, to a lunatic like the Joker? _Knowing_ you're taking that kid to his death? Standing there watching while that kid is viciously, brutally murdered? Thinking only of your 'misfortune' when karma takes issue with that kind of cruelty? That is a rotten cherry on top a shit sundae.

"B wasn't even in Africa for me," Jason says, _way_ too softly. His eyelids are starting to droop heavily and all the energy seems to have been sapped out of him. "I thought he found out I was gone and came to... I don't know, bring me home, or help me find my mom maybe. But he had just followed the Joker."

For fucks sake. Tim wants to punch a wall. Or Bruce. 

Bruce had to make a choice to go after his son who was hurting, or go chasing after the Joker? _And he chose the Joker?_

Tim's brain kicks into overdrive, quickly reevaluating every interaction he's ever had with Jason. Everything he knows about the confrontations Jason had with the others. 

Jesus, no wonder Jason was so desperate for Bruce to make that choice again when the Red Hood first came to Gotham.

Abruptly, Tim is struck by the fact that Jason is just barely 21. Although, Tim has always wondered why they stick with Jason's original birthday when he spent almost a year dead. It's not like he was _growing_ during that time. He's only a little older than Tim... he was so young.

Suddenly, those instances in the past, where Jason sought out Tim or Dick in a misguided attempt to "work together" feels less _smartass coldhearted douchebag_ and more _kid reaching out to his family the only way he knows how_. 

Jason slumps toward him and Tim stands, getting himself centered to handle the bigger boy's substantial bulk. 

Sean casts Tim an amused look, one brow crooked up skeptically.

"I'm stronger than I look," Tim says to him which earns a snort. "Tab?"

"On me." Which earns Sean Tim's own skepticism. But the bartender waves him off. "He's a good kid. Keeps things in line 'round here. He's had a rough night. Just... take care of 'im."

The way he says it, cautious but hopeful... Tim gets the distinct impression that Sean knows more than he's letting on and _way_ more than he should.

Choosing not to worry about that until he has to, Tim drapes one of Jason's arms across his shoulders and hoists him up. 

"Sorry," Jason mutters on their way out. "Sorry, Tim. Really didn't mean to get all maudlin on you. M'be you can forget I said anythin'."

"Not a chance, buddy," Tim says, carefully guiding Jason into the car so he doesn't hit his head. "You needed this. I needed this. There's nothing to apologize for. Ok?"

It's a testament to how out of it Jason is that he doesn't argue. Just hums.

By the time Tim crawls into the driver's seat, Jason appears to be passed out. 

Someday soon, Tim's going to have to coax Jason into telling him the second part, the part about coming back. He has a sickening suspicion that it won't be any better.

As if he can hear Tim's thoughts, Jason starts muttering in his sleep.

" _Too... too much... too much... dirt.... 'ruce... Bruce..... o-off-icer... m' dad..._ "

Tim scowls and speeds up. "It's ok, Jason. We'll figure it out. That's what family is for."

The plan going into Noonan's was to get Jason back to one of his safe houses and stick around until he woke up.

Now, as Tim merges onto the bridge leading out off the island, he knows that it's time. It's been far too long and they've all kept too many secrets from each other. bottling up too many emotions for the sake of the mission. Things that aren't just potentially damaging to the family, but ones that are eating them all alive from the inside out. 

It's time to make a change. 

And this is the best place to start. 


End file.
